


Signal Flare

by valores



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Music, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Politics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valores/pseuds/valores
Summary: There's a fine line betweentoo muchandjust enough. Lio would know—it's why his music came out the way it did, a rallying cry to forge a path forward in a world built on the backs of his kin. A world that spares no hesitation in bleeding them dry.Worst of all are the do-gooders who languish in willful ignorance. People like Galo Thymos, who talk a fine game of making a difference when they lay the very bricks of the rot that lines the underbelly of Promepolis.It’s enough to make anyone want to set the world on fire.In which Lio tries to lead a revolution, and Galo gets caught in the tide.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Signal Flare

The first time he sees the symbol, it’s emblazoned on a girl’s jacket: sharp magenta lines that sit bright against the black. Then she disappears into the crowd, and well, that’s that.

Back when he worked with Burning Rescue, the others always told him he had a sixth sense when it comes to fire. Which, okay, is a point of pride, actually, because that just means he’s even more prepared whenever something happens. It’s a useful trait when there’s almost always a fire happening somewhere in Promepolis. Even more now that there are constant riots ramping up and they gotta arrest any troublemakers before it gets out of hand.

Maybe that’s part of why he lingers over the symbol. Like it’s a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

He keeps seeing it, again and again. Same symbol, except sometimes it’s pink, and sometimes it’s green—if he were some kind of artist, maybe he’d have a more pretentious name for it, or something more descriptive. In any case, it starts showing up everywhere. Like the fires that constantly sprout up in Promepolis, setting people’s homes and livelihoods ablaze.

And that’s when it finally clicks for him. Because those are definitely _Burnish flame_ colors, aren’t they?

So Galo’s not completely surprised when it appears again in a larger crowd. Dozens upon dozens of jackets, and this time there are masks, too. People dressed all in black, their only recognizable features the triangles they bear on their backs and the masks they’ve donned that are decorated with rows of sharp, grinning teeth.

_WE ARE AS FIRE ITSELF,_ one of their signs reads angrily, written in sharp, swooping capitals.

_EQUALITY AND JUSTICE_ , reads another.

Of _course_ it’s another Burnish riot waiting to happen. The last one Galo saw, there was a flame launched at a nearby apartment complex and the ensuing explosion busted all the windows of an entire floor. He remembers the way it burned, heat trailing from every crevice, fires rising higher and higher until the building itself was a hollowed-out skeleton. He’d been with Burning Rescue back then. They’d evacuated most of the residents, but there were still casualties. People who died in the flames, others who escaped with third-degree burns that could easily impact them for the rest of their lives.

It’s _unfair_. The rioters are always kicking up a fuss in the city, causing problems for everyone else, their flames leading to death and destruction. And all for what _?_

So with a crowd like this, there’s nothing to do but arrest them properly. He and the rest of his squad go in armed, freeze guns at the ready, icing people down to take in before they set another building on fire or torch another innocent bystander. Galo’s gone through the reports before. He even sat through news updates on the stuff, because it’s important to know what the Burnish are capable of. What the rioters— _terrorists_ —are trying to do. And this is just another day of business as usual when the Burnish won’t let up.

“As you may have seen from the recent riots,” Kray tells them one day, during a debriefing, “the terrorists have been becoming more organized. We have reason to suspect there’s someone leading them. I want everyone on alert in the coming weeks. We’ll corner them yet.”

Galo snaps a salute and a sharp “ _yes, sir!_ ” with the rest of the squad.

The next major directive ripples through the ranks a few days later. Intel says a major riot will break out somewhere near the municipal buildings in one of the other districts, and that is definitely not happening on his watch. Patrols are increased in the area to offset Burnish activity and discourage people from meeting, but somehow they catch nothing. If there’s ever a shadow in the area, it’s because an official is finally heading off with a security escort. Nothing out of the ordinary.

His own shift turns up nothing unusual, which is odd. They’ve never gotten wrong info for most of their operations. So what gives?

Then the comms are blowing up with activity. _“Get to the radio tower,”_ goes one barked order. _“Terrorists trying to take over the station.”_

Terrorists? At the _station_?

It happens when he’s en route to the station area with others in his squad: the series of screens overlooking the city square go dark. That in and of itself isn’t a hazard because it’s just the screens, no big deal, not like the electricity is shorting out or anything—but then they flicker and settle on a scene. A video. Three people in a room, silhouetted against a wall of fire. All wearing that same familiar mask that’s starting to sear itself into Galo’s memory like a brand.

One of them takes a step forward.

_ “We Burnish come forward with four demands of Promepolis—” _

It’s about all he tunes in for before the transport vehicle gets hit by _something_ , a tire blown, and they _could_ continue on it but Galo’s going for the door lock himself and hitting the release. It slides open with a hiss, and he lurches out. “I’m going ahead!” he shouts, because on foot, he can see what’s going on better, especially if the cars are being hit.

“Galo!”

“Look, I’ll take it up with Vulcan later!” he snaps back. “If there are terrorists in the area, then we gotta help evacuate too!”

Rescue isn’t part of the mission statement, not here. But sometimes he wishes it were. Either way, it doesn’t matter if it isn’t anymore, because he heads off and out, the hydraulics of his gear shifting with each heavy footstep. It doesn’t beat the Matoi Tech that Lucia fashioned for him—then again, nothing really beats the brainchild of a self-proclaimed mad scientist—but hey, it’s good enough, and sleeker than the older models of Rescue Gear that he had to train with as a rookie.

Walls of flame not unlike the one in the video line the walls of the nearby mall complex, but Burning Rescue is already dispatched and at work getting people out, sirens flashing and blaring in the vicinity. So that’s one less thing for him to worry about. Galo keeps moving, keeps going, tries to reach the core of the blazes that rim the perimeter of the next building. And then— _there_. A figure trapped in the flames, darting away from the entryway that’s gone ablaze.

“Rescue’s here!”

Only after it’s out of his mouth does he remember that he’s technically not here as Burning Rescue in any official capacity. But those are details to deal with later. Right now there’s someone who _hasn’t_ gotten out of the burning building in time, so he falls back on routine. He blasts the entryway with ice that freezes over the crawling flames and then bursts through, picking his way past flaming debris and dodging ceiling tiles that drop haphazardly and stir up clouds of dust.

The figure weaves impossibly fast through the corridor. Galo shouts to be heard over the general sounds of the building groaning around them, but then the hallway opens to a larger lobby, and—that same figure is crouched over a prone body on the ground. Someone moaning in pain.

That’s when he notices the black clothes on the figure. Just like the rioters. No triangle, but—

“Hey!” The word spills out of him like a bark. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The figure straightens and turns around. A helmet emblazoned with the familiar grin he’s seen on the rioter masks greets him. Galo’s gaze flits between the injured man on the ground and the rioter staring back at him.

“Don’t you have other things to be worried about?” The voice is low and distorted. Nearby, the man shifts, clutching at his ankle with a distressed noise.

“You bastard—”

“If you take any longer, the building won’t survive this. And neither will he.”

They dart away, and the worst part is Galo can’t just split himself to handle _both_ the pursuit and rescue, so he picks the more important one: rescue. He swoops in to scoop up the man with one arm, trying his best not to jostle him, before he turns around and heads back out. It’s a perilous path, avoiding the worst of the flames and the smoke that sends his sensors beeping, but once he’s back outside, gently laying the man down, people from one of the Burning Rescue squads are darting over to administer aid.

No Aina or Remi or Varys coming up to him. They must be busy somewhere else. That’s fine, because his comms are blaring with voices.

_ “—to open fire on the terrorists!” _

_ “Crowds splitting off from the square, probably going—” _

_ “Heat signatures in the smoke on the—” _

He doesn’t have to listen to all of it to know what’s going on. The figure he’d seen in the building had to leave _some_ way. He loops around the building, and nothing. Did they already get away? Or maybe—wait. The comms mentioned the smoke, and… He glances up, watching the smoke trailing into the air from the buildings, obfuscating the rooftops. There are a few Freeze Force vehicles closing the distance to the rooftop, but that’s when a silhouette speeds out through the smoke with the unmistakable rev of an engine, flames coalescing underneath to forge a path for the descent.

Galo takes aim and fires, but the ice melts uselessly under the wheels of that fire-forged bike as it comes down and lands neatly in the courtyard, trails of smoke rising up around it as the poor grass underneath gets torched in the heat. There’s a figure perched on that motorcycle, suited up in planes of armor. It’s all absurdly cool in highkey _danger_ kind of way, which means that no matter how awesome it is, Galo is and has always been under orders to arrest them. Because this is obviously the person who set fire to the building, and this has gone far beyond protests and beyond even just rioting to an act of pure terrorism. There’s no letting that slide.

“What’s so fun about setting fire to people’s houses and businesses? How many riots has it _been?_ ”

The voice that comes back is distorted, same as before. “None of us chose this.” The words drip with disdain. “But your governor made a choice when he stripped the Burnish of their rights and ordered the crackdowns.”

“Yeah, only ‘cause you guys wouldn’t stop _burning_ everything—”

“Are we counting now? A fire for every act of police brutality we’ve seen? The number of times your Freeze Force has made unlawful arrests even when people were peacefully protesting?”

“And that doesn’t justify all the times you guys have hurt or killed people to make a point! How many _years_ has this gone on for?”

“Too many.” The figure looks up, radiating disgust. Galo doesn’t need to see a face to know that. “Your governor had years to change his ways. Years to do anything differently. And all of _you_ are complicit in his crimes.”

“What the—we really here talking about _crimes_ when you—!”

“We’re done here. Don’t waste your breath.”

The bike revs, then accelerates from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds, ripping past him like a bolt of lightning and trailing flames in its wake. Too fast to give chase even with the latest line of mechs the Freeze Force has acquired, and Galo’s hands clench and unclench uselessly at the controls. That close to one of the terrorists and all he’d reached was an impasse.

In the aftermath, he gets chewed out real good by his squadmates. They grab all the footage saved from his mech of the entire encounter for better visuals on the Burnish they tried and failed to catch. This is something on a whole different scale from the riots. The violence is escalating. They need all the information they can get.

Vulcan basically rips him a new one, and that’s more or less in line with what Galo’s familiar with anyway. It’s not the first time they’ve butted heads. And not the first time Vulcan’s threatened to have him arrested as well, with his rank and position rescinded so they can discharge him dishonorably. Vulcan’s always full of shit—Galo has no idea why the gov lets a guy like this lead the Freeze Force, even if it _is_ true that Vulcan has a high record of successful arrests under his belt. Far more than Galo has ever managed.

It’s also true that he should have tried to arrest that Burnish immediately. The brief conversation they had was nothing but flung vitriol. Nothing accomplished. And it rankles.

Still, in all the time he’s worked as a public servant with Burning Rescue, or with the Freeze Force, he’s never seen anything on the same level as that bike. He’s seen Burnish flares go up, wailing as they snapped their jaws. He’s seen basic things like flung fireballs and walls of fire. Okay, so maybe he’s seen other Burnish bikes too and wondered how the hell they work. But that one was just…

All right. There’s a first for everything. He’ll get it right next time.

-

So Aina gets a pair of tickets for a show with a bunch of different indie bands slated to perform at some lounge downtown, and Heris isn’t available that night— _too busy with work lately_ , Aina sighs over the phone—so Galo gets invited. He’s not a huge music nut, but he’s gone with her in the past to a few different shows whenever they managed to wrangle tickets together. Each time has been fun. And it works out since it’s his day off, so why not?

Except it also turns out that Heris forgot some important files at home, and Aina gets called to pick them up to bring to her workplace.

“Hey, I’ll come with you!” he offers, but Aina only shakes her head.

“No, you should stay and enjoy the show,” she says, managing a smile even though she mostly really just looks disappointed, and Galo frowns. “You have to tell me about how it goes, okay? Watch it for me—and Heris, since she was supposed to come in the first place!”

He tries to go after her, but he loses track of her in the crowd and she doesn’t pick up her phone after that, so maybe he really should just stay? It’s like having a mission. He has to report back to her on how it goes. And then they can figure out tickets for a different thing to go see together sometime.

The first band takes some time to set up, but when they do start, they’re not bad—their opening song has some kick to it, but overall the music’s airy, a little sleepy, kind of peaceful in the way he’s seen some indie bands do it. The next one isn’t bad either; there are some irresistibly catchy chords in the chorus on the first song they play, though the other tracks aren’t exactly memorable either. Somehow, he feels like Aina would actually be disappointed, because she has some pretty intense tracks on her phone that she used to get Lucia to put on blast at the station. Maybe this is just a trial run? Scoping out new bands that seemed interesting? The tickets went for cheap?

The real problem is the last band that goes up. Their first track starts up hard and fast, heavy percussion and guitar tearing up the venue, and the vocals cut in thirty seconds into the instrumental intro. Even without words, there’s no question that they sound _good_ with those drawn-out notes. 

Then the next song hits like straight fire. The vocalist steps out from the shadows in the back edge of the stage to settle under the purple-hued lights, gloved fingers fitting themselves around the base of the mic and practically ripping it from its stand.

“Never see the sun, never be the same—”

Oh. Okay. This is an insane amount of stage presence from a band Galo’s literally never heard of before.

“—I can see your tears inside. Torn-up skies have killed the rain…”

At some point, Galo starts pushing his way to the front, trying to slip through the throng of bodies around him so he can get a better look.

“Are we born to lose? Should we even try? Are we gonna get to choose who will live and who will die?”

In retrospect, the closer Galo gets, the worse this whole situation is for him. Like the rest of the world has gone up in static and all he can pay attention to is the way the vocalist’s hair shifts with every motion he makes on the stage. And—wait, did he just look over here? Galo darts a brief glance to the people next to him, but all they’re doing is bouncing in place with the rhythm of the music. By the time he looks back up, the singer’s eyes have gone half-lidded, settled on some indistinct point in the crowd.

Did he imagine that? He really did imagine that, didn’t he? Granted, the venue isn’t small, exactly, but it’s not that huge either...

“...Do I come from the fire? We’re going back, oh yeah! So spend some time with me—I really like your company… We’re not so different… Flip that coin; it doesn’t matter! And if we don’t survive, _I’d rather die than live a lie!_ ”

It really would have been nice if Aina didn’t have to leave. She’s rolled her eyes at him before for having basic tastes in music, so at least getting into this band would be an improvement. He can’t help it that the only stuff he really manages to catch on a normal basis is like...maybe the top five played songs on the radio because they conveniently come up whenever he tunes in to anything. The biggest disappointment is that the guys playing here aren’t part of that set.

Galo’s never been especially good at picking out lyrics on the fly, which is why it’s a surprise even to him when that chorus sinks in easily, his mind hiccupping over _spend some time with me, I really like your company_. It’s too much to deal with, especially with the way the lights make the singer’s eyes look like they’re burning. And Galo just watches. Listens. The other tracks they play are just as wild with frenetic energy, the vocals powerful and soaring, but it feels like that one song really just ruined his life.

The singer and his bandmates disappear somewhere after the show’s over, which kind of sucks when Galo’s practically vibrating with questions—most importantly: _hey, can I get an autograph_? That seems kind of trivial against the way it feels as though the music ignited his soul all over again, burning harder and hotter than ever. An overload of energy he doesn’t know how to deal with.

He stops by at the bar area to snag a glass of water, downing it quickly, but even that doesn’t really diffuse the feeling that’s settling in his chest, the kind that makes him want to tear off on his bike and push it until he’s breaking speed limits. Which he isn’t going to do, because he’s a law-abiding citizen and he has to set an example, but the temptation is there. Maybe if he were to do it out in the open roads outside of Promepolis, like when he’s driving up to the frozen lake for a break. No city limits there, and no one else around, so it’s safer.

“A fireball, please.”

Someone settles into the seat next to him, and Galo shifts automatically so he isn’t up in their space. Nearby, the bartender chirps an affirmative and gets to work pouring the drink, and that’s when Galo spares a glance at the person beside him without thinking, and—

“Wha—it’s you!”

And there’s that singer again, perched elegantly on the next stool, elbow propped up on the counter as he leans a cheek against gloved knuckles. Now that he isn’t on the stage, Galo realizes with a start that his eyes are _actually_ violet, and it isn’t just an effect of the lighting.

“I’m not allowed to stop for a drink after performing?”

The bartender slides a glass onto the counter. Ice clinks against the sides of the glass as the singer curls his fingers around it and raises it.

“Well, no, but… I dunno, I thought you guys would be in the back catching a break away from everyone or signing autographs in some VIP section. That show was great. All your songs—they were like fire! Ahh, that really lit up my burning soul!” The words spill out of Galo just like that. It’s impossible to contain his enthusiasm.

Somehow, this seems to amuse the singer. “A show as small as this isn’t going to have anything with VIPs.” He tips his head back and downs the entire glass before setting it back down, signaling to the bartender again. “I take it you liked the music?”

“I just said, didn’t I?” Galo grins. “You guys ever think about trying to put on a bigger show? Y’know, bigger venue! More people to listen! I feel like you guys could get _really_ big.”

A soft breath that sounds like it’s on the edge of a laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but that’s not really in the cards for us right now.”

“You should really think about it though!”

“Mm. I’ll put some thought into it.”

The next glass goes down at an alarming speed, and then the bartender’s sliding over another, which disappears at a similar rate, and…

When another glass comes in, Galo just stares. Now that he’s close enough, he’s also realized that the singer is a good head shorter than him at least, and slender enough that that amount of alcohol should be sending him on the fast track to getting drunk.

“Hey, are you gonna...be okay?”

“It’s been a busy week.” It’s said by way of explanation, something flickering in the singer’s gaze. “I have to get my fill while I can. Why don’t you join me?”

The next glass gets pressed into Galo’s hands, and he tries not to think about how warm the singer’s fingers are as they brush over his, even with the gloves on. “Uh, I don’t normally drink, and I gotta drive back after this—”

The singer’s watching him, eyes dark. “Just one then.”

Traitorously, Galo’s mind blares with the memory of that one song. _So spend some time with me; I really like your company—_

“Uh… Okay.” Now this is just _unfair_. Galo takes the proffered glass and downs it, wincing as the alcohol sears his throat on the way down. “You actually like this stuff?”

“It does the trick most of the time.” Frustratingly, he doesn’t even look _slightly_ tipsy. How does that even work? “No good? You can call a cab if you can’t handle it.”

This would be a good time to say that there’s nothing the great Galo Thymos can’t handle, except getting another one of those shots would kind of suck. Normally he can drink a few and be fine—he’s a big guy, it usually works out okay—but this one doesn’t exactly taste great.

“I’m fine! One drink isn’t gonna get me down! You, though—not so sure about you. Like, I’m a professional, I’ve got first-aid training if you wind up drinking so much you regret it, but I gotta emphasize that you _really_ wanna stop before you hit that point.” 

That seems to resonate somehow. The singer’s tilting his head, looking a little more interested. “A professional? And what is it you do?”

“Well—” Okay, so _technically_ he’s not dealing with rescue anymore… “I used to work with Burning Rescue! Got really good at dealing with fires and trying to help people out. Now I’m working with Freeze Force to keep the city safer!”

Despite the general chore of having to deal with Vulcan, it’s a prestigious position, and he worked hard for it. He’s gotten thanks from random citizens who recognize the uniform when he’s on duty. The pride in his voice is genuine.

Except now the singer’s expression looks mostly...unreadable. “You really think that, don’t you.”

“Think what?”

“That the city’s being kept safe.”

The venue really is too busy for its size because it just feels hot now, too many people packed together and breathing in the same space.

“Yeah, of course!” Okay, this is something that’ll be easy to get into. “The Gov’s trying his best to stop the riots from getting out of control—or well, there were a few recent incidents, but things are gonna blow over, so you don’t have to worry about it. We’re taking it seriously!”

“Most of the protests are peaceful. Just people gathering to make a point. What do you think of that?”

Galo frowns. “But they’re disrupting the peace. Eventually, it always breaks into a fight, or something gets set on fire, and it’s a huge problem for anyone who gets dragged into it. And there was the recent terrorist attack. People almost _died_ in that. That’s a pretty big escalation.” He pauses, staring hard at the singer. “Hey, what’s—”

“Just wondering, mostly.” That voice cuts in smoothly, curiously bland, and then, for the first time since the start of this conversation, something about it hits Galo like déjà vu. “It sounds like you know what you’re doing, at least.”

“Of course I do! As I said, I’m a professional.” In more than just emergency service training, at least. “You seem like you know a lot about this, too. Actually, come to think about it—” Right, he’d never actually asked for a name. The band’s probably written somewhere on his ticket, and he could probably look them up at some point on the Internet, but somehow, it feels important to hear a name from the actual person. “What’s your name?”

“Haven’t heard of me?” The singer’s rising gracefully to his feet now, fishing for change from a pocket. Galo’s a little disappointed, but he knows a dismissal when he sees one.

“I haven’t! This is my first time seeing you guys. I was supposed to be here with a friend, but she had something to take care of last minute. Oh, I’ll pay for my own drink, don’t worry about that one.” He digs through his own back pocket and retrieves his wallet, flipping it open to pick out some bills. The bartender isn’t looking this way, but he leaves the bills on the counter in plain sight, next to the other pile.

“Galo Thymos, is it?” Warmth radiates from the singer as he takes a small half-step closer, and it’s enough that Galo’s attention fixates on him, darting from watching the bartender to watching the fingers that reach out and curve lightly over his bicep, warm even through the leather. It’s _incredibly_ distracting up until Galo’s mind catches up and he realizes he definitely didn’t introduce himself. He flushes hot for a moment and glances down just long enough to confirm he hasn’t spontaneously caught on fire, because for just a split second there he could have sworn he did.

“Aw, you know my name and I don’t know yours? What gives?”

Okay, there. That’s a decent recovery, even if he was definitely staring for longer than is socially acceptable.

“Your license made it pretty obvious,” comes the dry reply, and the singer’s reaching out, delicately closing the wallet that Galo still has yet to put away. There’s a glimmer as the strands of hair framing his face shift with the motion, revealing a triangular earring. “It’s Lio. Lio Fotia.”

“Okay, Lio Fotia,” he says, managing to sound more confident than he actually feels, “so when’s the next show? Are you guys performing again?”

“We have another in a week or so.” The look he gives Galo is cryptic, just as unreadable as the previous. “I _would_ ask you to come, but…” His voice trails off in a low murmur, different from how it sounds when he’s singing but no less melodic for it.

“But?” Today was probably the most memorable show Galo has been to in his life, so it goes without saying that going to another would be even better.

“Unfortunately, it’s sold out. We don’t have any seats left.” The corners of Lio’s mouth quirk, like he’s amused by some private joke. “Maybe another time. I think we’ll see each other more than you think, Galo Thymos.”

Galo watches him, brows furrowing. It feels like he’s missed something important but he can’t tell what. And the parting half-smile Lio gives him—more of a smirk than anything, oblique and treacherous—offers no answers. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through him that he doesn’t _really_ want to try deciphering right now.

And besides, those words sound almost like a promise.

“Yeah?” The word emerges like it’s been punched out of Galo, echoing in the space between them.

“Yeah.” Those gloved fingers slide down slowly, then gently squeeze his wrist. When they finally let go, the empty space left behind somehow feels cold.

Then it’s a twist of his heel and Lio takes a step into the throng of people, melting away like he was never there in the first place, never looking back. Galo watches him go and doesn’t follow, feeling oddly bereft. Hell, he hadn’t really learned anything about Lio either; it felt more like he was being...quizzed somehow. On his job. What he does.

_Usually_ mentioning his job would inspire more awe than that, so this kind of blows.

Still, he could honestly listen to Lio recite a cooking recipe or something and not grow tired of it. That kind of voice is just plain _dangerous_.

The bartender takes one look at him and laughs.

“Not doing so hot, huh?” The counter’s empty when she leans on the counter and grins at him. At least she pocketed her tip, so she’s doing way better than Galo is right now. “Don’t worry, kid. There’ll be other ones. Plus, you can tell your friends _aaaalll_ about the cute one that got away until they pity you and buy you more drinks.”

“Hey, I wasn’t gonna do that!” he says, justifiably aghast, and she just laughs again at him before she whirls off to get a drink for someone else.


End file.
